


Laughing Among The Ashes

by SalamanderInk



Series: In the end, you will always burn [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, BAMF Hela (Marvel), BAMF Loki (Marvel), Canon Divergence - Thor: The Dark World, Descent into Madness, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, M/M, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, Pre-Slash, but not quite; it's more like drifting along?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21785638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalamanderInk/pseuds/SalamanderInk
Summary: Loki was not surprised when Odin went down to his cell with the news of Thor's death in his little escapade. After all, he'd been the one saving the oaf's skin again and again over the centuries.But now? Now he no longer had any intention of letting himself be used by liars and greedy, ungrateful old men.And if that meant spending the rest of his life in this cell?Then so be it.He was a Trickster God.In the end, he wouldalwayshave the last laugh.
Relationships: Frigga | Freyja & Loki (Marvel), Hela & Loki (Marvel), Loki & Odin, Loki & Thor (Marvel), Loki/Tony Stark
Series: In the end, you will always burn [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1762369
Comments: 28
Kudos: 402





	Laughing Among The Ashes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silver_drip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_drip/gifts), [thebifrostgiant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebifrostgiant/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Rhapsody in Red](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21598696) by [Rabentochter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabentochter/pseuds/Rabentochter). 



> So this prompt was definitely Silver's fault. She dared me. Sortof.  
> Once again many thanks to the best cheerreader in the entire world, Frosti, darling, you're the best.  
> Also, I am blaming Sesil, because she likes being blamed, and honestly, her fic did give me some Loki-in-prison feels.  
> This one was unbetaed, because I was impatient ^^;

Madness was a funny thing.

Loki had always known Thor would be useless without him, always known that they relied on his gifts too much, even as they belittled him. 

To know that his former brother and his three stooges and lady flunky had died on their first expedition without him only brought him bitter satisfaction, a faint sense of vindication that tasted more like ashes than ambrosia. 

To think that Thor would have risked his life for his  _ woman— _ for the one that had brought on their mother's death—when he had not even  _ thought _ to try looking for him when he'd been lost in Thanos' grasp… 

_ Of course _ they'd gotten lost, of course they had run ahead without ever thinking anything through. 

They had thought to find on their first attempt pathways that he'd spent centuries mapping. They had thought to outrun beings who had made their lives within those paths. 

Of course they'd fallen into a trap.

They always did, after all.

Except that this time, they had no Loki to bring them back. This time they had left him in his cell, laughed and mocked and sneered at his 'untrustworthiness'.

And, Loki was sure, upon their last breaths they had wondered and berated him for not being there to save their sorry behind.

Loki was not surprised at all of the news Odin had told him. 

He might be disappointed that his brother had still not learned his lesson from that fateful trip to Jotunheim all those years ago, about impulsiveness, and pride, and recklessness, but he was not  _ surprised. _

He'd been the only one to see Thor's hubris, his rashness, his arrogance. All those things that made him unfit to be king.

Of course he saw them. He'd been the one to clean them up.

And be branded a traitor and an envious snake for his trouble.

No, it was Odin's proposal that was unexpected.

To think, after all those years, that old man would just simply hand him over the throne he'd spent so long dangling before his nose. He must be truly desperate. Or senile.

But Loki was not feeling cooperative, nor did he have the patience to deal with the restrictions and suspicion such an appointment would bring.

No, Loki had had enough of thrones. Had had enough of thankless Aesir and traitorous 'friends'. Enough 'glorious purposes'.

Loki was an agent of chaos, a free roaming spirit. The mere idea that he would wish for a throne was laughable. He had taken the burden for Frigga's sake, he had pretended to wish for it in order to avoid the Mad Titan's suspicion. The idea that he would ever do such a thing to please the Allfather was ridiculous.

And, as hysterical peals of laughter echoed against the golden walls of his prison, as his not-father turned red and blustering at the rude dismissal, as bolts of power ripped through him in punishment and shouts of anger from the old king rang into his ears, Loki thought that this must be what madness felt like. 

Soon, all those he would have called family would be dead, and all of them by his hand, either through actions or inactions, directly or indirectly. It mattered not. 

Perhaps he should have felt something more about that than a vague sense of numb melancholy, a detached sort of despondency even as his mind dissociated from reality. 

He’d used up all his grief and anguish in his rage, lashing out as the faint echoes of the ceremonial march of Frigga’s funeral filtered in through to the deep underground where he was rotting. 

There was nothing left, not even a tear for the man who had not been his brother. 

Not even for the man he’d spent—and lost—his life trying to please. 

Odin would die soon, he thought, as the old king stormed out of the dungeons with a few bellows against the various Einjerharts stationed there. He would die soon and there was something he was afraid of. 

The mad laughter kept ringing for a long time that night. 

***

The worst thing about prison—in fact the worst thing about his life in general, but maybe it would be best not to expand upon that—the worst thing was  _ boredom. _

Nothing ever happened there, not even a glance and an insult from a guard, or if there was a young recruit who thought themselves particularly bold, a very dull one. Barely enough to break the monotony. 

So Loki had taken to make his own entertainment, as he usually did. 

Of course resources were scarce inside his cell, much more than they’d been when he was still a prince—though if Odin was to be believed, he might be a prince once more? The old man never made much sense in his ramblings—and so Loki took to laying waste to an imaginary world of his own making, and tricking court members that he’d dreamed up. 

The practice felt lackluster, lacking the usual energy of chaos and chance that usually made it fun, lacking the thrill of danger, the delicious edge of spite and vindication that came from knowing that he’d well and truly made a fool of whoever had been against him. 

But it did bring him some measure of contentment, a sort of peace that came from doing something repetitive enough to be comfortable and just varied enough not to bore him to tears. 

He was falling, he knew. His mind felt more and more sluggish, his strength was gone, along with his motivation. 

Melancholy was an insidious sickness, a quiet killer that numbed the soul until the will to live was entirely snuffed out. 

It was quite a bit like the cold seeping into one’s bones and convincing you to shut your eyes just for a minute, just to get a second’s rest, and let the pain of the freezing limbs disappear in the sweet embrace of death. 

How fitting for a monster of the ice—the prince of ice beasts!— to fall to such a disease. 

How pitiful he’d become. 

Loki couldn’t even muster up the energy to care. 

After all, the same day would repeat forever until his flesh finally gave out, what use was caring if it brought nothing? What use was struggling, and putting on the effort? What purpose did it serve? Soothing his hurt pride? 

But wasn’t that Loki’s best kept secret? 

Loki had no pride, never had, so easily had it been squashed down by his not-brother’s gigantic ego. Because Loki could never be any better than Thor at anything lest that thing be unworthy in the eyes of any. Because Loki could not be valued or respected. Loki could not have ambitions of his own, could not have aims and desires that were not those accepted and expected by the royal family. 

In truth, Prince Loki didn’t exist, not anymore than Loki, Thanos’ general did. 

Those were all masks worn in order to fool, to please someone of greater power than he, tools in order to survive, to thrive in spite of the hostile climate. 

And he had, of course. 

Or had he? 

But it mattered not, since nothing mattered anymore. Thanos could no longer touch him, the Aesir could no longer control him, and who exactly was losing track of what was real and important  _ Mother?  _

Because Frigga had never known that Loki was not Loki, she had never cared to look, never cared to ask. 

Otherwise she would have never given him that spear. She would never have asked him to acknowledge Odin as his father. 

But what did it matter? 

Frigga was dead. 

Thor was dead, along with his woman and his friends. 

Loki had no one anymore, but then he never truly had anyone, had he? 

There was no one, and he did nothing, and nothing would ever happen anymore because he was trapped in a box with walls that were not walls, golden as they were but not made of gold, watching things that did not exist, talking with people that were not real. 

He was truly going mad. 

It was only to be expected. 

He’d always been mad, after all. 

Ever since he’d been told Thor and he were the same, treated the same and valued the same,  _ loved  _ the same, he’d been going slowly mad. 

Loki, God of Lies. Such drollery.

It was quite a heavy burden to bear. 

A wry smile crossed his lips, helpless laughter crawling up his throat once more. That crazed unstoppable laugh was haunting him almost as much as it was a release. 

What a broken pitiful thing he’d become. 

He no longer expected anyone to come down there to see him. Everyone was too scared now, especially since rumors of his madness had reached the troops. He felt unhinged, but then he knew those things could still be fixed, his mind could still piece itself together. 

After all, he’d put himself to rights after a stay in  _ Thanos’ _ dungeons. And while isolation was its own kind of hell, the Other was  _ creative. _

But that would still require an incentive. 

What use was soundness of mind in a place where every second of consciousness was grating against his paper-thin control, rubbing in his face how very low he’d fallen, how much he’d lost, how little there was left. 

What use was rationality when there was no one to converse with, no one to use his cleverness against? 

What use was a trickster when his every trick was used out? 

All that was left to him was  _ spite,  _ and it was spite that made him play out the madman, the crazed murderer, the unhinged being so terrifying that even a man as desperate as Odin had seemed to be would not dare to put him anywhere close to a throne. 

No, Loki would no longer be anyone’s puppet, and the best way to avoid that fate was to appear unfit for any purpose they would use him for. 

After all, his usefulness had always been both the thing to help him out of the trouble he found himself in, and the thing that snared him even more, choking him, leashing him. 

Because so long as he was competent he was  _ dangerous,  _ but so long as he was  _ useful _ he was kept close. Alive, safe, but captive, even if sometimes he was not aware of it. 

But he knew better now. 

He would not be fooled again, would not be taken in by sweet words and the promise of family, of affection. 

Then again, who was there left to offer him that? 

But no, no one would care about mad-Loki, left to rot in his cell, the traitor-prince who lost his mind. He was harmless now, after all. Safe in his cage, no one would come and look for him anymore. 

No one would lie to him. No one would use him. 

No one would talk to him. 

Sometimes, Loki wondered what would have happened to him had things been different. He wondered if he would have turned out to be kinder, gentler,  _ saner,  _ had Odin been a true father to him, had Thor been a better brother. 

Or was he destined to die a mongrel like that, just as he’d been born one? 

The query was worthless, a waste of time, an exercise in futility. 

But he had nothing but time and everything he did was futile anyway. 

Loki had no desire to escape after all. 

Otherwise he would have swindled it out of his brother when he’d come to boast about his mad quest to avenge Frigga. He would have used sweet honeyed words and spiteful sarcasm, guided his brother to the idea that only Loki knew the paths well enough to navigate them, and surely, someone as strong as Thor could afford to keep a single weak, dishonorable mage such as Loki in check. 

Yes, Loki could have gotten out. 

He could have saved his brother and left. 

But what was there for him outside? 

He would be hunted and put down like a mad dog, either by Odin’s forces or Thanos’, and without the protection offered to members of the royal family there were quite a few people over the realms that would want to make him pay, either for his own wrongdoings or for those perpetrated by the Aesir over the millennia. 

After all, if they could not retaliate against their oppressors, wouldn’t a disgraced prince do the trick, at least long enough to satisfy their need for revenge? 

He could understand, of course, but that did not mean he wished to be a part of it. He would not give them the satisfaction. 

He would not let himself be such easy prey. 

But then, what else was there? 

He would wait. 

He knew how to bide his time, he’d learned it the hard way. 

One day there would come someone who would not be fooled by the veneer of madness, if it was only a guise still, and would come looking for his skills. 

Loki still had not decided if he would agree. 

Odin would die soon, and the realms would fall into chaos with no one to succeed the tyrant, Asgard would fall. 

Or perhaps… 

As disconnected as he was, as isolated from every other living soul, it had taken him a while to perceive the difference. 

The sensation of the Odinforce felt different around him, the energy flowing through the barriers enclosing him didn’t quite taste the same. 

Perhaps there was a faint flavor of ashes and decay, the same manner of sensation one got in the quietness between explosions, when one’s ears rang with deafness and the heart beat too fast. 

Loki liked it. 

It tasted like change. 

It was no surprise then when the owner of such a seidr came to visit him some unknown amount of time afterwards. After all, time no longer had any meaning for him, but magic  _ did.  _

And that magic spoke quite eloquently of the one who wielded it, a conqueror, a being steeped in death but not madness in the way the mad titan was. Chaos, fire and brimstone. Armies laying waste to the world and bringing their enemies to their knees. 

Odin was dead and here was his successor. 

The one that he had been so desperate to avoid. 

Loki felt an unhinged smile spread over his face as he heard the deliberate steps of booted feet walking down the stairs reaching to his cell. 

They were coming. 

And indeed, there was Odin’s true heir, the one Loki had suspected without knowing there was even something to expect. The one that the old one-eyed had feared. 

She stood before him clad in black and emerald, features sharps and pale, eyes deep-set and dark. 

What a fearsome being, this sister was. If he could call her such. 

Her demeanor was unimpressed and nonchalant, and Loki understood of course. There was hardly anything impressive left of him, here. Just a broken thing, dirty and half insane. 

But that was the trick, the trap he’d laid for his not-father and that Odin had fallen for so completely. 

Asgardians. They’d always underestimated him. 

But she… did not. 

The way she observed him, eyes sharp and calculating, a knowing smile upon pale lips, she knew better than to believe the words of servants and guards, she knew better than to underestimate a trickster, even one fallen to insanity. 

Loki smiled back, not quite demented, not quite challenging. The smirk felt odd upon his lips after so long staring into nothing expressionlessly between bouts of hysteria, but it was good. 

Like a bit of himself snapping back into place. 

He would need his wits about him to deal with this one. 

It sounded like fun. 

Of course, the deal she offered was one he’d heard a thousand times from a thousand masters, but his expectations hadn’t quite been so high. 

There was respect in her eyes, understanding. There was value in the place she offered him, and no naivety in her terms. There was an opportunity, but not a  _ leash. _

And yes, perhaps it was foolish of  _ him. _ But Loki was interested. He was greedy. 

There was no lies in her words. 

It was the first time such an offer had been laid out before him without there being a hidden caveat, a trick or a lie. 

They couldn’t have known, of course, what it meant to be God of Lies. Fools that they were, believing naively that it related to his ability to play-act, to dress up his words oh so prettily. 

They couldn’t have known that he could  _ taste _ them. 

Silver was the one thing that could detect poisons, after all. And what were lies but the deadliest of them all?

But Hela’s…  _ Queen Hela’s _ did not taste of much. Honey and decay, mostly. The sharp edge of a blade that would run you through should you overstep. The confidence of one who wielded power as easily as they breathed. 

Certainly, she could afford to be generous in her terms. She at least did not fear him. She knew she could strike him down should he get in her way. 

How intriguing, to see someone and not have them consider him a threat. 

How refreshing. 

But in the end, it was not that which made him decide. Nor was it the way she used her seidr liberally, with no care to hide her power from anyone, the way she flaunted her magic as much as her military prowess, trampling over the rules of Asgardian propriety. 

Rulers were the same everywhere, after all, no matter how different their methods.

No, the determining factor was the quiet man that had followed her into the dungeon. Short on stature, confident but quiet before the queen, in a way that would seem deferential if not for the cocky smirk and the way he sauntered inside, the man stirred up some long buried memories, a sharp smile, the offer of a drink, a shared joke, a threat. 

A  _ challenge.  _

Loki didn’t quite know why, but he wanted to know more. 

And curiosity had always been his greatest weakness. 

Though, perhaps, looking at that smirk, at that clever glint in the honey eyes of the one Hela had called her Merchant, perhaps he wouldn’t mind having another. 

Perhaps it would be compelling enough for him to fix his mind. Perhaps it could be an  _ incentive.  _

It seemed interesting enough to matter. Chaotic,  _ new.  _

He was Loki. Of course he didn’t need anyone, not to get away, no to fix himself, not for anything. 

But sometimes, the loneliness left the taste of ashes into his mouth, the blandness in his illusions wearing him down to the bones, the silence clawing his mind. 

There was no time for playing madman anymore. 

And so Loki smirked at queen who called him ‘brother’ with a wry quirk on her lips, and for the first time in way too long, thought  _ ‘very well.’ _

And so Loki looked into those eyes that looked so much like his own, and talked back. He let his eyes narrow in cunning and his mind play with the words of their contract, he let himself negotiate and play with words. 

And argued, and laughed and bargained and smirked and played. 

When Hela finally smiled honestly and played along, gave in just enough to make it seem believable for a canny soul such as Loki’s to be satisfied with their compromise, he then bowed and agreed with a clever smirk. And with confidence only half feigned, sworn allegiance to Asgard’s new Queen. 

And with that, he stepped forward and for the first time in what felt like more than a millennia, left his cell. He was now a free man—of sorts. 

There was no need for drawn out talks and ceremony.

He had things to do, after all. 

Queens to serve, tricks to play, wars to wage... 

And pretty men to bed, of course. 

  
  
  


  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave a comment and tell me what you thought!  
> I hope you enjoyed :3


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